


Today, Mr Silver

by olga_eulalia



Category: Black Sails
Genre: Captain Flint's Everything, Frottage, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-09
Updated: 2017-04-09
Packaged: 2019-01-15 15:27:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12323757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olga_eulalia/pseuds/olga_eulalia
Summary: ... who’s an enabler of the finest sort and who championed the idea that the world needed more Flint’s Thighs Appreciation <3Unbeta'd! Non-native speaker writing here.





	Today, Mr Silver

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellel/gifts).



> ... who’s an enabler of the finest sort and who championed the idea that the world needed more Flint’s Thighs Appreciation <3
> 
> Unbeta'd! Non-native speaker writing here.

At this point, the safe path between the camp and the seashore had become a well-known fixture. It allowed Silver to revise the sequence of movements he’d learned earlier in the day during sword practice. Flint's adeptness made wielding the weapon look so easy, like it didn't take months of commitment to imprint at least some skill in the handling of it. But Silver couldn’t afford years, so he worked differently, keeping a catalogue of moves and countermoves stored in his memory.

The frustrating part of practicing with Flint was that Silver could often predict the blade's trajectory, but was too inept to parry it nonetheless, thus depriving himself of several moves he'd foreseen his teacher would have made had the soft tap not found his shoulder so soon.

Flint's days were filled with the task of instructing his forces, maneuvering at sea, fight-training close to the shoreline. By rights, he ought to look more exhausted. But Silver had rarely seen him look more dejected than when he'd been denied access to Silver’s past. A dreadful, distancing mood had settled over Flint then, turning his gaze inward.

When Flint abruptly stopped walking and asked, "Same time tomorrow, then?" Silver, at his side, seemed little more than a distraction to him.

"You're not going back to the camp?" Silver stepped uncertainly in place. He looked at what Flint was carrying beneath the coat slung over his arm and relabeled it quickly in his mind. "I think I'd like to join you."

At that, Flint's eyes focused on him, opalescent. "Very well." Nothing but acquiescence, as the veil of brooding quiet lowered once more.

 

The sun on his shorn head, Flint, in full pirate captain attire, was talking to Madi's mother down in the street. His hands were locked behind his back, his weight rested on his left leg while the other appeared agitated. Watching him, Silver knew he was offering insight to the Queen, offering her possibility, making her stake in the mission to retake Nassau all the greater. Both of them were leaders, steadfast in their beliefs, and it was fascinating to see their visions slowly come to a compromise.

Madi stepped to Silver’s side, joining him in looking out from the banister outside her home. "Not so long ago, your eyes were watching my every movement," she said.

He smiled at the teasing note in her voice. Not so long ago, he had been suffering from great pain, and she had looked into his soul and found him trustworthy, and he had healed. A few days ago, he'd given her an answer as to why he was willing to share a friendship with Captain Flint. The man had entrusted him with many things -- his crew, his reputation, his battle strategy and the actualization of it, but most importantly, his private story. Which, until that special night, had been kept secured away from the world. Whether it had been Silver’s to tell was questionable at best, though it seemed to have become part of his own story in a strange way by then, but he had desperately needed Madi to know that Captain Flint was more than an ordinary man set on seeking fortune, that he was indeed someone fighting for a righteous cause not easily set aside, and that she and her people could trust in him because of it.

Madi studied him, head held somewhat aslant. "You want him?" she asked. "Like you want me?"

One more smile could have easily negated it, but Silver found his face uncooperative. All he managed to do was return her gaze in the hope that a non-answer would be acceptable to her. And as he struggled with the realization that here, at last, was somebody he could not and would not lie to, it occurred to him that her words had never been meant as a question at all.

Madi raised her brows and regarded him levelly. "I understand," she said, without trace of dismay.

They turned to face each other fully then. She was so lovely in her countenance, so compelling in her regal bearing, so fascinating in her wisdom. He wondered whether kissing her in view of all the camp was something she might allow. He took her hand instead.

"I did not meet you yesterday, John Silver."

 

It all came off. The studded leather belt was set aside. The sash unwound. The black shirt pulled loose. The many buttons on his garments popped free. The boots tugged off, accompanied by soft grunting. Silver didn't know what he had expected to see underneath, but it definitely wasn't gray-stockinged calves, and - once the breeches had been tugged down - white underpants with neatly tied bows beside the knees. To someone who'd come to associate the sight of Flint stripping down layers with him readying for battle, this was kind of a shock.

An onlooker would have said Flint took a long time dressing down to a single undergarment, whereas Silver had divested himself of all his clothes quite speedily. They wouldn't know about the calculations rattling off in the brain of Mr Silver. Whose needle on the moral compass never sat still, whose convictions of propriety were able to adapt as the situation required. But for all the foresight he possessed, Flint failing to follow his example in getting fully naked, was also unexpected. Modesty? Silver thought, watching Flint brave the wet, the thin fabric of his underpants becoming transparent as he waded deeper into the pond and water sloshed about him.

The bastard hadn’t even glanced at him once.

With his walking aid, Silver followed. He drifted a good distance apart from Flint, glorying in the sensation of lessened strain on his limbs, and watched Flint, who was facing away from him, run a cloth over his freckled arms and broad shoulders and under his brushy armpits. Up to that point, Silver had never seen his captain bathe, only ever witnessed him use the inadequate basin in his cabin or splash water on the reddened back of his neck on a hot day, and therefore found himself spellbound by the view. Flint, he found, had much in common with the dramatic heroes of mythology populating so many paintings, the unbridled power of his physique only emphasized by the lack of hair on his head.

And what did heroes do for a living? Silver looked across the pond’s placid surface, head submerged up to his eyes. He dove under momentarily, wetting his hair so that it clung heavily between his shoulder blades on resurfacing. Then he began to make his way determinedly to shore.

There. As soon as he felt an unevenness in the ground's surface, he went under in a big splash and came up with a pained shout. His crutch was drifting off, making him balance in the waist-high waves on one leg.

Next time he looked, Flint had already retrieved the crutch and was coming towards him, striding a direct path through ever shallower water, shoulders moving, like Poseidon himself come to claim him. The tug of both fear and arousal at the sight was already familiar to Silver.

“Here you are,” Flint said. The soaked garment clinging to his groin left little to the imagination.

"I think I'm going to need a tether for this thing," Silver said and, gripping Flint's left forearm tightly, steadied his stance by tucking the crutch into his armpit.

Flint probably expected him to let go of him then, but Silver didn’t. The skin of Flint’s arm was warm and wet and frustrating in its strength as it held completely still. All effort on Silver’s part to drag Flint closer was to no avail. Silver's gaze locked with Flint's, incendiary. Flint's jaw clenched.

For a moment, Silver thought he’d grossly miscalculated. He opened up his demeanor invitingly, but what it earned him from Flint was a sizing-up of his figure that felt much like a rake dragging across his skin.

“I thought you and Madi had grown close,” Flint spoke, somewhat haltingly.

Silver wetted his lower lip. “I thought you of all people would understand that someone can be close to more than one person at a time.”

Clouds now overcast the late afternoon sun and colours grew sombre. Water trickled, the pond being gently fed by a stream. Branches creaked and leaves rustled as a squawking bird took flight. But the noises of the forest were negligible compared to the loud slither of thoughts in Silver's head.

When Flint moved, it was like a colossal statue coming to life. He let himself be pulled in, eyes now fixed on Silver's lower face. Their mouths met, parted in excitement, and many breaths passed between them, before Flint, deciding to end the conflict, sealed their lips.

Silver was prepared for the heaviness, but not for the slowness, the care placed in every renewal of the kiss. Like in their sparring session, Flint pressed on, but allowed Silver to find his own countermoves. Kissing Flint speared him deeply.

As their mouths finally parted, the hesitation on Flint’s face had been replaced by perplexion, as though he did not fully understand why this was happening, or rather why the act itself had lacked any uncertainty and felt like a natural thing to do. Silver could relate to that sentiment even more strongly, because he’d just now discovered that part of him had been willing this turn of events into existence for the better part of a year.

Flint then pulled him snug to his hips, parting Silver's legs on his sturdy thigh, and, using sheer brute strength, walked him backward out of the pond, where he tumbled him with a thud into the shaking ferns at the water's edge and the crutch was discarded once more.

Silver instantly scrambled to untie the cords on Flint’s underpants, wanting to lay bare his sex; then reached around and tried to drag the clammy material down over his buttocks, but failed on both accounts. Desperate, he looked down to see the muscles in Flint’s thighs bunch the see-through fabric as they laboured with singular purpose. Silver spread his palms over them, feeling their firmness, only making matters worse.

“Take them off. Or I’m going to undo these knots with my teeth. I’m going to,” he gasped for breath, “rip them off with my teeth.”

So Flint, after a stunned pause, removed himself again and peeled his drenched underpants down his legs till they lay in a furled heap on the forest floor. Silver’s skin went ecstatic at the sight. Delight at the plenty of it all suffused him. Flint rose above him like a thundercloud against the paleness of the sky as he lowered himself and brought down his knees on either side of Silver’s hips.

“Better?”

Quite to the contrary. Silver was aching. He grabbed onto Flint’s waist and pulled himself forward so that he could kiss his way up the furred center of Flint’s torso and tease his tongue across the breadth of it, tracking the source of that deep rasping voice in a roundabout way. He hardly knew Flint without the smell of sweat and seawater on him, and eventually had to clasp the bud of one of Flint’s pectorals with his teeth and just breathe around it for a moment in order to contain his greed.

Flint, having gently held onto his hair, now framed his face with both hands and made him lift his head so they could look at each other. Flint’s eyes appeared luminous. He said, “You’re so-” But swallowed the rest.

“Yes?” Silver encouraged and put one of his arms around Flint’s neck, the powerful expanse of Flint’s shoulders shifting under his palm, as they both lowered themselves to the ground once more. He very much enjoyed the feel of Flint’s body molding to his, the urge in it.

“Unexpected.”

“And here I thought you were going to say-” Silver could think no further, as Flint had aligned their dicks and found the perfect rhythm on instinct.

“I was going to say?” Flint whispered in his ear.

“You were going to say, uh-” Silver clutched the back of Flint’s thigh, right below the swell of his ass, trying to keep Flint locked in place as need drove his hips up against him faster.

“Hmm?” Flint hummed, breath punching out against his neck.

Silver felt it resonate at his core. “Ingenious. Attractive. Irresistible. Good at this.” The words rolled sluggishly off his tongue. He wasn’t really only describing himself here.

Flint sank his teeth into Silver’s shoulder and groaned into the bite. “Shut up,” he said, sounding wrecked, then added more mildly, “You know you are.”

The admission licked into Silver like a sudden spurt of flame. For a moment he thought his climax was going to crash over him and rip him from Flint right then and there. But he managed to hang on for dear life, helpless to stave off the onslaught of Flint, who was grinding on his hips frantically now, squeezing around him, rutting into him, insistent on pleasure, and suffered the prolongation of a sweet torture that had him clinging to the edge of a bliss so vast that there could be no rescue.

Something cracked open inside his mind, and he said, straining, “I don’t want you to know me like I used to be. I want you to know me like this.” Then he took the warm metal of Flint’s ear stud between his lips and sucked on it.

Flint’s answering groan had a keening note to it, as he clamped down around Silver and his hips stuttered and his entire body shuddered so that Silver’s shook with the force of it too. Holding on to Flint just as tightly, somehow trying to keep him from shattering, he couldn’t not follow Flint’s example, and their bellies were slicked with the conclusion of their desire to know one another.

 

They walked at a leisurely pace, though the sky had already begun to darken. When they reached the Maroon camp, torches had been lit and the smell of burning wood and freshly cooked food hung in the air. A mother called for her son, who emerged in the street in front of them not seconds later. The child stopped for the briefest of moments, eyes very round, then jumped up the steps to his home. Today, Mr Silver wasn't carrying the crutch in his hand upon his return, he was carrying the prosthetic.


End file.
